Sherlock Drabbles
by stargazer0607
Summary: As a lover of sickfics and sneezefics, I decided to combine all of my drabbles and short fics into one location. This collection will feature mostly Sherlock and John, with a few other characters thrown in when they feel like visiting. Each "chapter" posted will be a different prompt.
1. Crying

John sighed in relief when the front door opened and closed, signaling that the consulting detective had finally returned home. "It's been hours, Sherlock, and it's almost freezing outside. Where have you…" John broke off as he set down his book and looked up to Sherlock.

Sherlock was standing in the center of their living room with the back of his wrist pressed hard against his nose and mouth. What really got John's attention was that it looked like Sherlock had tears in his eyes.

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

Wrist still in place, Sherlock sniffled and scrunched his eyes shut in reply.

At the lack of response John began to feel slightly uncomfortable. He wasn't really sure how to handle a crying Sherlock, but he knew he couldn't ignore the situation. He got up and walked over to Sherlock. "Hey," he said quietly, "what's wrong?"

Sherlock shook his head and sniffled a few more times.

"Why are you crying?" John really didn't want to voice the question, but it had to be asked.

"Not crying," was Sherlock's strangled reply from behind his wrist.

John raised his eyebrows. "You could have fooled me. Do you even remember what crying is or have you deleted it?"

"Not… _hih_ …" Sherlock lowered his wrist as his breath hitched and he immediately steepled his hands over his nose. " _ihh'ccchhhuh!_ " He gave a sniff, pushed his wrist back under his nose and scrunched his eyes closed one again.

"Bless you," John said quietly, still worried. "Sherlock?"

Sherlock shook his head and steepled his hands over his nose once again. " _ihngCCHH! Huh…ihh'SSHHhuh!_ " With a groan, Sherlock sank into his chair, but brought his wrist back under his nose.

"Well?" John questioned, sitting back in his own chair.

"Not crying." With a sniffle, Sherlock pushed his wrist up into his nose then dropped his hand to his lap. "My sinuses are just burning and buzzing from the temperature change from my long walk in the cold weather to the warmth of the flat." Sherlock sniffled and rubbed at his nose harshly. A few seconds later he steepled his hands in front of his nose again. " _hihngTCH!_ "

"Bless you," John said.

Sherlock groaned as he scrunched his eyes shut again and pressed his wrist into his buzzing nose with a sniff. "I'm going for a shower to warm up and alleviate the irritation in my sinuses."

"Good luck," John said with a smile as he watched Sherlock enter their bathroom. Relieved that detective was only sniffly and sneezy instead of crying, he relaxed into his chair and picked up his book to continue reading.


	2. Promise

Anger was radiating off of John in waves as he stood with his hands clenched into fists at his side while glaring at Sherlock. "You said you were looking forward to this dinner and that you would actually eat, for once."

Sherlock rolled onto his back on the sofa, clasped his hands together on his chest, and stared at the ceiling. He closed his eyes then massaged his forehead with one hand.

"You promised Sherlock. Why bother making a promise if you never intended to keep it?" John fell into his chair and put his head in his hands. "I don't know what I was thinking. I knew this would never work."

Startled at John's statement, Sherlock opened his eyes and quickly looked over to John. "John, I'm sorry. I really did…" He trailed off and cupped a hand over his nose. " _Hih'ihnnn'cch!_ "

John lifted his head and glared at Sherlock once again. "You can quit with the act, Sherlock. I get it. You don't want to go."

Sherlock responded by coughing harshly into his elbow. He'd barely gotten his breath back when he was overcome by a fit of sneezes. " _Huh…ingch! Hih'igtchuu! HhhhIIIIHHHGshoo!_ " After grabbing the handful of tissues from his pocket and blowing his nose, he curled into a ball facing the back cushions with a groan.

Shaking his head at Sherlock's act, and needing to get away from the infuriating detective before he'd say something he'd later regret, John stood up. "I'm going out and I don't know when I'll be back." He patted his pockets looking for his mobile. "Where's my phone Sherlock? You took it earlier and never gave it back to me."

"My shirt pocket," he mumbled into the back cushion.

Rolling his eyes, John strode over to Sherlock. As he went to grab his phone out of the detective's pocket, his arm brushed against Sherlock's cheek. Instead of retrieving his phone, he put his hand to Sherlock's forehead in concern. "You're burning up."

"I told you I was ill, didn't I? It's not my fault that you didn't believe me."

John left the room and came back with some pills and a glass of water. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you, Sherlock. It's just…" he left the sentence unfinished and sighed. He sat at the available end of the sofa, grabbing one of the pillows from behind him, and patted it as he put it on his lap.

Sherlock wasted no time in uncurling. He downed the offered _pills_ and lay down with his head resting on the pillow in John's lap. "I intended to keep my promise you know."

"I shouldn't have doubted you." John stated, then began running his hand through Sherlock's hair.

"I would have doubted me." He rubbed his nose and sighed. "I'm sorry about dinner. I promise I'll make it up to you," Sherlock said with a sly smirk on his lips. The smirk disappeared as he curled into himself to sneeze. " _Hih'ingtccchhh!_ Once I'm better." He smiled and closed his eyes as John continued to play with his hair.

* * *

 _I've got about a dozen or so drabbles and short fics already written but am definitely looking for more ideas. If you have any ideas, or certain prompts you'd like to suggest, please let me know. I'll see what I can do with them.  
_

 _Please let me know too if I should even continue writing and sharing these. I feel these short drabbles/fics are slowly helping me to get a handle on Sherlock. He is very difficult to write in character._

 _Thanks!_


	3. Impatience

Prompt: Impatience

* * *

Sherlock's breath was coming out in puffs as he tried to contain his shivering by shifting from foot to foot. "Will you please hurry up and unlock the door, John. It's freezing out here." He crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

John, who had been trying to pull the keys out of his trouser pocket with numb fingers, froze in place for a few seconds. He then quickly removed his hand and fumbled around in his coat pocket instead.

Sherlock huffed, no longer hiding his impatience. "Do you really want to deal with me if I get ill from standing out here in the freezing cold?"

Ignoring Sherlock, John turned away from the door and buried his nose in the tissues he just pulled from his pocket. " _heh'TCCCHH! Heh…heh'KTCCHoo!_ "

"That didn't mean that I wanted to deal with _you_ being ill," Sherlock stated.

"I think I liked you better before your supposed death," John mumbled jokingly while unlocking the door to 221B.


	4. Pillow

_My prompt: Pillow_

* * *

John had made a beeline to the kitchen the moment he got home from an exhausting day at the surgery. With a steaming cup of tea in hand, he headed to his armchair to relax. He got a few steps into the living room before he stopped suddenly. Both chairs and the floor between them were covered in books and various boxes.

Shaking his head, he turned and headed to the sofa, but stopped again. Sherlock was sprawled over the entire length of the sofa on his stomach with his eyes closed. His left arm was hanging off with his hand grazing the floor and the right was under his head.

John sighed and walked over to the sofa. He gently tapped Sherlock's hand with his foot. "Hey Sherlock, budge over. There's no other place to sit."

Sherlock opened his eyes and peered up at John. "Hmm?"

"Move over." Sherlock yawned in reply. "Hey, you alright?" John questioned, not used to seeing the detective sleeping.

"M'fine." Sherlock moved enough for John to take the place of where his head had been.

John sunk down on to the sofa wearily.

Not five seconds later, Sherlock flopped back down and rested his head on John's lap. This time he was on his side with his left arm hanging off the sofa and his right arm pressed against John from hip to knee. He took a deep breath then stilled.

John just sat there frozen in shock; both arms raised high above Sherlock's body. Before he had time to contemplate what he was going to do, he was startled one more time.

Sherlock quickly sat up a little and cupped his left hand over his nose. " _Hng'sh!_ "

"Bless you!"

"Thanks." Sherlock rubbed his nose and rested his head back on John's lap.

John rolled his eyes. "Sherlock, I'm not your bloody pillow."

Sherlock wriggled a bit and gave a contented sigh. "Observe what is in front of you, John. The evidence shows that you are. And a very comfortable one at that." His breath hitched and he curled into himself as he sneezed once again. " _Hng'ish!_ "

" _Bless_ you. Are you sick?" He peered down at Sherlock trying to get a good look at his face.

"A little," Sherlock admitted.

John leaned forward and set his cup on the coffee table. He then placed the back of his hand on Sherlock's forehead to feel for fever. Luckily the detective was cool.

"John will you please stop moving? You're making me nauseous."

"I'm not your pillow!" John repeated, but he got comfortable and sat still. Not knowing what to do with his left hand, he slowly placed it on Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock gave another contented sigh and closed his eyes. He was asleep just minutes later.

* * *

 _Thanks for the reviews. I'm still deciding if it's worth continuing to post here, but I will for the foreseeable future.  
_


	5. Unfair

Prompt: Unfair

* * *

Country landscape slowly started to turn into more populous landscape as John looked out of the train window. As his breath started to hitch, he reached into his pocket and brought a tissue up to his nose. " _Heh'ktchhuh! H'TCCHH!_ "

"Bless you," Sherlock said from beside John, eyes never leaving his phone.

"Thanks." After blowing his nose, John glared at Sherlock. "This is so unfair. Why are you not sick too?"

"I told you, John, I don't get sick."

"But we barely spent the last week and a half out of each other's company while investigating the case. You were exposed the same as me." John quickly retrieved his tissue again. " _Hih'ktSSSHH!_ " He groaned as he wiped at his nose. "You should be miserable just like me."

"Since I have to listen to you snivel and sneeze, I'd say I _am_ miserable." Sherlock glanced at John again. When he saw the look John gave him, he gave the doctor an apologetic expression and huffed. "I just don't get sick."

"It's unfair."

"You already said that, John."

"I know, Sherlock. I know." John sighed. "It's just not fair that I, who eats and sleeps regularly, should end up sick, while you, who most of the time only eats and sleeps when forced, is the one who is healthy." John then began coughing. When the fit subsided, he yawned, leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes.

Sherlock didn't respond to John, he just turned his attention back to his phone. Ten minutes later a heavy object fell onto his shoulder. Startled, he looked over and saw that it was John's head. He was tempted to either wake John up or push him away, but opted to leave the doctor alone. For one, John was quieter this way, but more importantly, he found he didn't mind being used as a pillow in the slightest.


	6. Caught In The Act

Prompt: Caught in the Act

* * *

Sherlock shut the door behind him with his foot and headed straight to the refrigerator with a large bakery box in his hands and a definite spring in his step. Halfway to the appliance he heard a sneeze come from the direction of the living room.

Knowing he should be the only one in the flat, Sherlock froze at the sound. He glanced around then cautiously walked into the living room, momentarily forgetting about the box in his hands. His eyes landed on a pajama clad John lying on the sofa, covered with a pile of blankets, and blowing his nose. "What are you doing here?" he asked John.

John cleared his throat while dropping the used tissue into the bin he'd placed by the sofa then looked up to Sherlock. "What's in the box?" he asked in response.

Sherlock glanced at the forgotten box in his hands, a look of pure innocence gracing his face. "Um…"

"What's in the box, Sherlock?" John repeated getting suspicious.

"You're supposed to be at work."

John quickly grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the table. " _HhhTCCHhh! Hih'tchhuh!_ Came home sick." Seeing as Sherlock wasn't answering, John got up and walked to Sherlock.

Sherlock could only stand there as John approached, knowing it was too late to do anything else.

John lifted the lid of the box and looked inside. "So you thought that if I was at work you wouldn't have been caught in the act of bringing that home," he stated then sniffled. "What, you thought I wouldn't notice a bakery box, a box that I didn't bring home, being stored in the refrigerator?"

Sherlock glanced at the box, nodded and looked back at John with such hopeful eyes that John bust out laughing. When his laughter turned into harsh coughs, he turned around and headed back to his nest of blankets on the sofa. "Bring that back to Molly now, Sherlock."

"But John, I'm bored," Sherlock whined, giving the doctor his best puppy dog eyes.

"The eyes won't work on me, Sherlock." He paused to sneeze into the tissues still in his hand. " _hih'tchoo! hih'tchhuh!_ You know what we agreed upon about heads in the fridge." He gave a huge yawn and burrowed under his pile of blankets.

Sherlock looked longingly at the box for a minute then headed to the door. "Stupid flatmates coming home with stupid colds," he muttered while closing the door behind him. He'd just have to wait until John worked a long shift before he tried bringing the head home again.


End file.
